


Addict With A Pen

by ElectricEuphonium



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Although it's 1950's Xandar, Eventual Romance, Gangsters, Guitars, M/M, Oral Sex, Peter Quill is a wonderful angel and deserves the world, Suicide Attempt, so basically like modern day earth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 02:52:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3102809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectricEuphonium/pseuds/ElectricEuphonium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1950's Xandar AU - A suicide attempt by Rocket is stopped by Peter Quill. Broken and alone, Rocket gets sucked into a world he's never known, all the while trying to not let a certain element of his past come back to affect anyone around him.</p><p>NOTICE - ON HOLD UNTIL THE RELEASE OF GOTG VOL. 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Addict With A Pen

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based on this OTP Prompt from the otpprompts tumblr: "Imagine Person A in your OTP is about to jump off a bridge, but Person B yells out to them and causes them to realize what they're leving behind. They go to B's home and quickly learn that they are an artist who makes their living by selling paintings and playing music on the bridge A was planning to jump off of. They meet every few days and A begins to grow closer to B. B asks one day if they can use A in one of their paintings. The way the painting and the posing goes is up to you."

_I'm just being dramatic,_

_In fact,_

_I'm only at it again_

_As an addict with a pen_

_Who's addicted to the wind as it blows me back and forth,_

_Mindless, spineless, and pretend_

_Of course I'll be here again,_

_See you tomorrow,_

_But it's the end of today_

_End of my ways as a walking denial_

_My trial was filed as a crazy suicidal head case_

_But you specialize in dying,_

_You hear me screamin', father,_

_And I'm lyin' here just crying,_

_So wash me with your water_

 

\- Twenty One Pilots, _Addict With A Pen_

* * *

 

_Vermin._

The water looks cold. Ice cold, probably, considering it's mid-November. For some reason he can't bring himself to care.

_Scum. Animal._

His breaths are causing bursts of fog out of his mouth. He rubs his snout and adjusts the collar of his coat, looking around at the bridge he's standing on. Not many people around, and certainly not people who are going to stop him.

_Monster._

"Fuck," he mutters, letting himself get lost in his thoughts. His fur stands on end and he shifts his hat a bit, then scrambles up onto the ledge. He'll need to empty his mind before he gets to the bottom, lest he start having second opinions about all of it. He takes the hat off of his head. It's a nice fedora. He got it at a pawn shop back in '49. He smells it one last time. There's a faint trace of that old store. The place smelled like gun oil and wood, like craftsmanship. He sighs and throws it to the side and back, landing it on the ground behind him. With one last look at Xandar, he stretches his arms out, feeling the wind run through his fur as he begins to let himself fall forward.

"Hey! Woah, stop!"

He is pulled from the embrace of almost-death by a strong pair of hands whose arms wrap around his front, taking him backwards from the ledge.

"What the hell are ya--fuckin' let go of me!"

"Why were you going to do that?" A gentle voice asks, slight twang that he doesn't recognize in it. He struggles out of the strong grip and whips around to glare at him.

"What the hell's it to you?" He snaps, studying the human in front of him. He wears a white t-shirt with suspenders connected to brown pants, a very worn pair at that. They have stains on them from who knows what. He peers up to the humans face and decides he already hates him because he's looking at him with such fucking pity, like some fucking defensless-

 _Animal._

The thought runs through his head, and he hates the human even more. He has green eyes creased with worry, and an (admittedly attractive) beard on his face that doesn't look very well kept.

"Who the fuck are you," he continues, "To deny me this?"

"To deny you giving up?"

It's spoken soft and it hits fucking hard coming from someone he just met, but he tries not to let that show. "Fuck you. If you would have to deal with the shit I have, you'd consider ending it, too. Now, I'll ask you again: who the fuck are you?"

"Peter Quill," he replied, unoffended and gentle as ever.

"What kind of stuff have you dealt with that could make you think you need to kil yourself...?" He says it like he really wants to know, and not just know, but help, and everything tonight has been fucking insane anyway, so he decides that he'll indulge the idiot in front of him. Maybe he can make someone else's life a little bit worse. Just having the information of his life is a burden anyway.

"I'll tell ya when we get to wherever you live. Lead the way," he sighed, motioning with his hand for Peter to go ahead.

"Uhh...I don't even know your name," he remarks incredulously. "Gotta give it as an escort fee."

"Rocket," he mutters. "My name's...Rocket."

"Okay, then," the human responds cheerfully, starting off down the bridge.

He takes one last look at the ledge he stood on, then walks over to where he threw his hat, picks it up, and puts it on. With a huff, he begins to follow Peter.

_~_

Peter Jason Quill (Rocket learns his middle name on the way there because the idiot starts talking about himself to compensate for the information Rocket's about to share) does not live in the most extravagant of places. Even so, it's better than some places he's had to scrounge up in with...with...

 _"We...are...Groot."_

Thinking about Groot is still painful, and isn't something that he wants to keep doing if he can avoid it.

Peter lives in a place that basically has 5 rooms: A living room, a kitchen, a bathroom, a bedroom and one other. They're lived in, certainly, but homey. That other room in particular catches his attention. The walls are covered in what look like album covers and posters of bands he's never heard of. A record player is against one of the walls, presumably to play those albums. Instruments are there, too: a grand piano, a drum set, multiple guitars, a ukulele, random brass and woodwind instruments. Rocket realizes that this is the biggest room in the house.

"You must like music, huh...?" He remarks.

"More than is usually for most people. I actually make my living playing music on that bridge."

"Wait...like, the bridge we were just on...?"

"Ayup. That's my job. I also paint people. Caricatures," he says with a certain fondness.

"Wow..."

"Yeah. So," he began, rubbing his hands together, as if he was about to eat, "What's your story?"

"Y'know, I'm not entitled to tell you," he scoffs, even though he was the one who suggested it.

"True, but...have you ever really told anyone your story?"

He has to think about it for a moment. "...Yeah, 'course I have."

"Fully, I mean. All of it," Peter clarifies.

"...No," Rocket admits. He can't think of a single person he'd ever told the whole thing too, except for Groot, and Rocket resolved not to think about him anymore.

"Fine. I'll tell ya, but you can't say a damn thing til the end, alright?"

"Scouts honor," He promises, sitting down on the couch and gesturing for him to sit down on the ragged chair in from of it.

Rocket decides not to ask what the hell he means and starts talking as he sits down.

"I...I'm an experiment. I mean, not just a normal test subject, but...completely created just to see if they could. Entirely illegal, too. Probably because they didn't follow any sort of fuckin' medical procedures. No anesthetic or anything. Most of the operations they did were fuckin'...I mean, I've been shot, been hurt bad, but...nothing I've ever felt compares to what they did. They tore me apart and put me back together, over and over and over and...and over again."

Rocket coughs to clear his throat and glances up at Peter. His eyes are unreadable, but they're not filled with disgust, so that's satisfactory enough to convince him to keep going.

"I escaped from there once I was able to. Burned the place to the ground. Only one person I let live, one of the nurses. She...she didn't want to be there. She had to provide for her family, and they were payin' her a lot. We got along well. She's got a wife and kid now...I think they're doin' fine. I hope so.

"Eventually I met someone who didn't judge me for what I was." This was the hard part. He had vowed just _minutes ago_ to avoid thinking about Groot, not thinking about how he came here because this guy wanted to know about him. He just has to keep it short and simple.

"His name was Groot. He's dead now. I'm not ready to talk about how important he was to me and I don't think I ever will be."

Rocket lets out a shaky breath, just able to stop tears from coming. "Now, this shit's awful, but I'm tough. I could handle this if it wasn't for...other people. They never see me as fuckin' anything other than a...a freak, a monster. They're right. They're all right. I mean, I can't blame 'em for telling me the truth. I just wish I didn't have to hear it sometimes. I hate what I see in the mirror. ...Why the hell am I telling you this?"

"Well, I wanted to know, man," Peter says, shrugging. "I like to hear about people. I love people. Seems to me like you don't, though, and for good reason. Here, follow me."

Peter gets up from the couch and starts toward his bathroom door. Rocket gets up from the couch and swings his feet down off, landing with a slight thump. He pads along the hardwood and peers into the room.

"Heh, I'm dressed, dude. Come in here."

The door creaks open as he pushes it. Peter is standing in front of the mirror. He looks himself over, then beckons Rocket to join him. When he gets there, the reflection he's grown to despise at worst and just barely tolerate at best stares at him. He looks rough. He should have slept a while ago, because he sure didn't last night.

"Now, smile for me."

"What...?"

"You said that you don't like what you see. I do. I like anyone's face. So," he says, leaning down next to Rocket's head, "I wanna see you when you, or any person for that matter, are at your most beautiful. So, smile."

"You're a goddamn artsy sap, ain't ya?" He says, and he can't help but laugh, giving the asshole the smile that he wanted.

"See! You looked great. Everyone looks great when they smile. Don't forget that. Now, come on. It's late," he remarks, straightening back up and walking past the mirror and sink to the door.

"So?"

"So, I've decided that you're gonna stay here for the time being. You can use my couch. It's super comfy."

It _is_  a pretty comfy couch, but Rocket isn't too sure about the offer. On the one hand, this was the nicest somebody had been to him in a while, but on the other hand, all of that could be total bullshit and he might just wake up on the streets again.

But, for now, the house feels warm and inviting, and Quill doesn't seem like the type of guy to kick him out, so he agrees with a small, "Alright, then."

 

 


	2. On A Pedestal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is super fucking long, like the longest chapter I've ever written for anything I think
> 
> Peter sings two songs in this, the first one is this version of Will The Circle Be Unbroken (actual song starts around 1:00) http://youtu.be/qpr6W3lAeaQ
> 
> The other one is this version of Dead Flowers: http://youtu.be/eGj3BKZj248

_We've just got to take our time_

_It's like nothing really matters,_

_So lets make this moment a crime_

_I know, I know you're left behind_

_I'll do my best to feel broke down_

_It's been a minute, a second, I'll wait for you to come around_

_But I know, I know you're taking time_

_Maybe its just too late, (I've got to get away)_

_Everything feels the same, (I've got to get away)_

_Tell me it's not too late_

The Format, _Let's Make This Moment A Crime_

* * *

 

_"Let him go, you sons 'a bitches!"_

Everything hurt. They had wailed on him for a while before they bound him up against the wall and took to Groot, but the ache he was feeling couldn't compare to the panic that started shooting through his system. He willed up more energy to scream, " _Leave him alone!_ "

It echoed in the dilapidated warehouse, making one of the members of the group attacking them, a Skrull, snicker.

"Y'know, this wouldn't be happenin' if you'd have just paid up."

"I-I...I had the money...!"

"Hah! Ya guys hearin' this shit...?" The Skrull whipped around, his leather coat following the motion as he trekked over to Rocket.

"Listen up, princess," he hissed, leaning into the biped's face, "It don't matter if you _had_ the money. We need it _now_. The fuck kinda amateur operation you think we're runnin' here?"

"Listen, Sol," he pleaded, clearing his throat before continuing, "I can...I can get you the money, and--and even more! Do you honestly believe that I'm not fuckin' competent enough to do that? I mean...c'mon!"

Even to his own ears it sounded pathetic, but there wasn't much else he could do. Rocket watched helplessly as the other thugs held down Groot. One of them reached to their side and gripped a handle, then slowly slid out a machete. The dangerous gleam in the dim fluorescent light made Rocket's heart speed up. He started glancing nervously between the weapon and Groot.

"Oh, I think you're competent enough, ya little vermin. I just think you need a little...motivation." Sol snapped his fingers in the air, and the thug armed with a machete hacked at Groot's leg. It was a vicious swing, enough to take it clean off.

" _No!_ "

"Ohhh, yes, ya freak! If'n ya can't give us what we want, a little bit of equivalent exchange is in order! It's only fair that we take somethin' of yours! Have at 'im, ya bastards!" On Sol's cue, they all began punching, kicking, hitting, or chopping at Groot, depending on what they were armed with. The Flora Colossus looked to Rocket, obviously in a panic, loud whines escaping him.

Rocket struggled violently, thrashing and writhing to try and get out of the cheap metal. He was so weak. So goddamn weak, and Groot was going to get seriously hurt if he couldn't stop them. " _Don't you dare lay another fucking finger on him!_ "

"Or what?!" Sol barked, making Rocket flinch. "We can do whatever the fuck we want, and there's not a krutakin' thing you can do about it, you fucking scum. Look around ya! You're outnumbered and defenseless. Xorian, show the rodent we mean business."

At that, a Kree with long hair and bags under his eyes gave a sick grin, scars and burns around his mouth stretching grotesquely. He reached behind his hunched back and revealed a flamethrower.

" _Don't!_ Sol, call your boys off! I can get it for ya, I fuckin' swear!"

"Mmm, bit late for that, Rocky." Sol laughed so hard he bent over, then quickly straightened up and pointed to Groot. "Alright, ya crazy fuckers, _murder 'im._ "

" _Groot!_ " Groot was looking at him strangely peaceful one second, then his body was engulfed in flames the next. Rocket screamed and pulled his arms and legs, trying anything to save his best friend. The metal on his right arm came slightly off of the screws, and he kept pulling on it, trying to get one step closer to freedom. Rocket struggled more and more, but he fell forward, panting, tears running down his face as the only person he treasured disappeared in flames. "Groot..."

He started coughing, hard, but started to pull himself together when he felt an approaching warmth. Rocket slowly lifted his head to look forward, and stared with eyes wide while vines from Groot that were charred black and tinged with orange cinders and lines slowly made their way up to him. They moved slowly on the ground, slinking, not making their motions with the same life and energy that they normally did. Rocket watched as four of them slithered onto the binds and wrapped around a certain section of them, singeing his fur a bit, but accomplishing the goal: Rocket gave each limb a tug and was able to free himself. Sol was nowhere to be seen, but that just meant that he left his goons to their fate.

He dashed lightning-fast over to one of them, a Xandarian, and snapped his leg with a well placed kick. As he howled over the snapping of bone, Rocket climbed up his leg and stole the blaster hanging on the side of it. He fired a shot in the bastards head, then braced himself to take on the rest of them.

The remainder of the details in the killing was lost in a haze of fury and gunfire, and when he was finished none of the bodies were left moving.

Groot looked awful, no two ways around it. His limbs were gone, ash around him, and the only thing left of him was a bit of his torso and head. He could regrow his limbs, sure, but once he'd lost a huge section of his vitals like that, there certainly had to be little hope. Rocket ran his hands over his friend's charred bark, tears running down his snout and leaving dark droplet marks on the wood. "This is all my fault. If I'd never have gotten you involved with this shit..."

A tendril came up to caress his face and wipe away a tear.

"We...are...Groot."

He sobbed harder as he watched the life leave his best friend's eyes. He gave a barking cough, then fell to Groot's chest, crying and letting out, "Please...just please don't leave. You fucker, I need you...don't leave..."

~

Rocket wakes up in a feverish sweat, shaking his head as tears spill over from his eyes.

_Fuckin' pussy._

It's true. Crying first thing in the morning like this, it's pathetic. He needs to get a hold of himself before he ends up even weaker than he already is. Rocket hesitantly peers at the clock, expecting it to be some ungodly hour of the night, but the hands make it out to be 8 AM. He hears the front door open and close, along with the rustling of paper bags.

"Quill? Is that you?"

"Yeah!" He heads into the living room, carrying a paper bag in each arm. "Sleep well?"

"Uhh, yeah..."

"What's with the hesitation? Do you normally not?" He questions, making his way into the kitchen. Rocket throws the cover off of himself and gets up to follow him.

"Kinda. Not really. It doesn't matter," he mutters. He decides not to push the issue.

"Okay, man. Why don't you go ahead and get in the shower? I'll start breakfast."

Rocket still wonders why Peter is being this nice to someone he just met, but after pondering it for a second, he realizes that Peter Quill is a real special kind of idiot. Either that, or far too innocent for his own good. Rocket shrugs and heads to the bathroom to take a shower.

~

When he emerges, fur slightly fluffy and shiny, Peter looks over to him and grins. "You look better."

"I don't feel too much better, but thanks," Rocket sighs as he pads into the kitchen. "What are you up to?"

"Omelettes. That alright with you?"

He allows himself a small grin. "Hell, it's more fancy than anything I've had in years."

"Okay, dude, if omelettes are fancy I'm gonna need to treat you to a lot more stuff. I mean, I've been able to make this kinda shit since I was like, eight."

Rocket gives a small, questioning grunt as he sits down at the table. It's not very big but not very small, about four and a half feet across with four identical chairs on it.

"Why so early?" He asks, running his nails through the fur on his head to try and flatten it down. Peter glances at Rocket, and the way he shrugs gives an answer, but the look in his eyes...it's like he just brought up something he shouldn't, and means there's probably more to that than he's letting on. Rocket can totally understand having things that you don't want other people knowing (even if he didn't expect Peter to have any), so he drops it with, "Okay, then."

After a uneasy silence filled only with the sound of eggs being made, Peter finishes up and places a plate in front of Rocket, then takes the seat across from him.

_Course he doesn't want to sit next to you. You're a freak._

He has to struggle to remind himself, no, actually, it's general table etiquette to not sit right fucking next to someone you just met when there's a perfectly acceptable chair right across from them, where there will hopefully be less accidental leg touching. Not that Rocket would mind some of that.

He had to admit it, this guy was fucking _hot_ , with his stupid beard, and the way he smiled, and the way he was pretty muscular, and how he wore a shirt that showed off a bit of chest hair peeking trough the top, and now he had a stupid blush covering his face that he hoped Peter couldn't see through his fur. It's probably some sort of curse that the first person to be nice to him in quite some time had to be not only attractive, but more than likely straight.

_Even if he was into guys in some way, he wouldn't go for you. He probably doesn't fuck animals._

Well, he has to agree with that one.

"Rocket, you okay?" Peter's voice startles him out of his thoughts.

"...Mmhmm."

"Okay." He finishes up his omelette and downs the glass of orange juice in front of him.

"Today I'm going to the bridge to play, so I want you to come with me."

He smiles bitterly at him. "Ah. Can't trust me to be alone, huh."

"If I didn't trust you I would've slept in the same room as you, if not the same space."

While Rocket's mind completely runs wild with the idea of Peter sleeping next to him, the human continues. "Anyway. I just want to show you what I do all day, and hey, it's probably a little bit better than sitting around, am I right?"

"Guesso," Rocket sighs as he leans back. He hasn't really finished his plate, but he doesn't feel like eating any more. He begins to scratch his chin, and when he glances up, Peter is looking at him sternly. "What?"

"It's just...you should eat more. I know that it's probably hard to force down food if you don't feel like it, but...you kinda...have to. To live."

"I haven't really been doing a good job at that, have I...?" He says with a chuckle, but really his only line of defense at this point is humor. Peter doesn't stop with the look, though, so he groans loudly and tries to eat a little more. It tastes really good, but he just doesn't have much of an appetite. Still, Rocket makes an attempt at eating more, and swallows down most of it at Peter's firm insistence, somehow only channeled through his eyes. Peter nods when he decides that Rocket has eaten enough, and stands up. He picks up his plate, then reaches down to pick up Rocket's, and Rocket wants to fucking die because he reveals another weakness when he flinches at the sudden motion.

A lifetime of being in fights should make it so that he's hard as some kind of metal when it comes to things like that, but outside of combat he's not one for sudden motions toward his face. Groot figured out fast to take it a bit slow around him. It's not a big issue, he just hates the way it makes him feel--weak. He's already sensitive enough about how he's perceived by others, somewhat due to his sexuality.

Even though most of the galaxy doesn't have many problems with homosexuality, there are certain cultures that still aren't too keen on it or forbid it, and he's heard that Terra has an aggressively homophobic culture, so he's opted to not tell Peter. All of those thoughts somehow stemmed from flinching in front of Peter, but he always lets things get out of control.

Peter looks at him warily. "Oh, uh...sorry, man. Did you think I was gonna hit you...?"

"Fuck off, Quill," he growls, jumping off the chair and heading to get his coat and hat. He thinks he can hear Peter calling to him, but he ignores it. When he has his stuff on, he stands at the door waiting for him. The human makes his way out of the room that's lined with instruments and album covers, guitar in hand.

"Do you...not need anything else?"

"Heh, nah," he says, apparently able to brush off the awkwardness that could come from the prior situation like a bug on his arm, while Rocket was left to dwell and fret. "I'm not really doing anything fancy today. Just bringing the guitar."

"Won't people get bored if you're just doing that?"

"Well," Peter said, grinning widely, "We'll just have to see about that."

~

The bridge is like a carnival during the day. Well, not exactly, but there are _way_ more shops than is usual for any kind of bridge. Small, one-person-run booths line the sides up and down.

Rocket pulls his coat up around his neck more, trying to hide a bit. He's become accustomed to at least attempting to be invisible (or, as invisible as a fur covered genetic experiment _can_ be), but this is the opposite of that--Rocket's out in the open, and he can't help but feel like he's on some sort of pedestal. He basically is, because he's sitting on a crate next to Peter, who's sitting on a stool. "So...people just give you money for playing music?"

"I mean, yeah. People like music, I'm not too good at anything else, so why not?" Peter states his downfalls with such confidence and ease, like it doesn't even bother him, and it probably doesn't. Rocket can't help but be a little impressed.

He strums on the guitar, then starts picking individual strings, tuning them with the pegs on the head. When he seems satisfactory to start playing, Rocket takes off his hat and tosses it to the ground in front of them. "That'll probably work better than people just settin' money in front of ya..."

"Yeah! Good idea," he remarks, smiling like that was some special thing he never thought of in his whole life. Rocket shakes his head and runs his fingers through his fur as Peter begins singing and strumming.

_There are loved ones_

_In the glory,_

_Whose dear forms you often miss_

_When you close your Earthly story,_

_Will you join them in their bliss?_

Peter's voice is gruff, but not exaggeratedly so. It sounds like his normal voice, just unfiltered, showing all the roughness that he has in him but doesn't let show. Also doesn't hurt that he just sounds really good in general--deep, but able to hit higher notes if need be.

A few people take notice and gather round to observe, but Rocket still has to wonder if they're standing there to watch Peter or to stare at the freak show next to him. He wills himself to consider it a little bit of both, but he's still not a big fan of being near the center of attentio anywhere he can't use weapons as backup.

_Will the circle be unbroken?_

_By and by,_

_Or by and by_

_There's a better home awaitin'_

_In the sky, lord, in the sky_

Rocket isn't too sure about the lyrics, but he just assumes that they're some kind of Terran thing. He allows himself to sway his legs to the beat a bit, slowly, lazily, but it feels nice to participate in his own little way. He closes his eyes and he can feel the minuscule inklings of a breeze through his fur like moths running their arms through it. 

_In the joyous days of childhood,_

_Oft they told of wondrous love,_

_Pointed to the dying savior,_

_Now they dwell with him above_

_Will the circle be unbroken?_

_By and by,_

_And by and by_

_There's a better home awaitin'_

_In the sky, lord, in the sky_

When Rocket opens his eyes, there are more people, and he can't help but feel a little swell of pride, like when Groot...would do something kickass on a mission.

So maybe avoiding Groot thoughts was gonna be hard for a while, but that was just something he'd have to deal with.

After a minute or more, Peter finishes, and gives a little bow (as best he can while sitting down) to their applause. While a lot of the audience throws various bills into the hat and talk amongst themselves, Rocket turns on the crate to Peter. "Nice job."

"You think so?"

"Eh, could've been worse," he says, checking his nails nonchalantly. "I've seen better."

Peter guffaws with a disbelieving look on his face. "Have you ever even been to a concert?"

"...Nope. Whatever. What was that song?"

"Oh, just an old hymn my mom used to sing to me..." Rocket's ears twitch but he doesn't say anything about that statement, wanting to save that for later.

"Got any other songs she used to sing ya?"

"Oh, tons. Lemme think of one."

Rocket looks at the crowd while Peter thinks. Some of them are talking amongst themselves, but others are looking in surprise at how Rocket looks and how he's actually talking to Peter. He expects it, but not being alone in front of them makes it better.

"Okay, I thought of one," Peter says with palpable excitement. He cracks his knuckles, then starts playing.

_When you're sittin' there_

_In that silk upholstered chair,_

_Talkin' to some rich folks that you know_

_Well I hope you don't see me_

_In my ragged company_

_Girl, y'know I can't stand to be alone_

Rocket notices a woman with green skin standing in the crowd, her black hair highlighted purple and tied in a lazy bun. There are streaks of color on her hands, arms, and face, but she wears an apron covered with even more color. She's swaying to the music with the same kind of lazy rhythm as Rocket's legs, and she notices him, giving a gentle smile and nod.

_It's like she doesn't even realize you're an ugly monster._

He sinks into his coat a bit more and tries to focus on the music. 

_But you can_

_Send me dead flowers every morning_

_Send me dead flowers by the mail_

_Send me dead flowers to my wedding_

_And I won't forget to put roses on your grave_

It's a fun little song. Rocket can see why Peter would like it; it's a little sarcastic, but nice, kinda like the man himself. Peter finishes the song after a bit and everyone claps. He sets the guitar down, and when the people finish putting money in Rocket's hat they head away to look at other stalls, but the colorful woman and a man stay. He's a sleazy-looking guy with a toothpick in his mouth and a fedora on his head that's covered in slicked black hair.

"Nice show," he says in a voice somehow familiar to Rocket, throwing down a couple of bills, "But maybe lose the rat, huh? It's a bit of a hindrance to have a gross kinda distraction like that thing. Why is it there?"

Well, he should have expected someone to be like that, but he doesn't expect Peter's reaction. He gets up, laughing like it was some joke, leans down to pick up the bills the man threw, then heads back to his stool. "Good one. How about you go fuck yourself?"

He tosses the money over the bridge, letting it sink down to the bottom. "Hey, that was my money, asshole!"

"Maybe you should've thought about that before insulting him, and that's _him_ , not _it_ , you greasy fuck. Get the hell away from my station."

"Tch," he huffs, turning and walking away.

"What an asshole, huh?"

"I mean, he was just speaking the truth," Rocket mutters. "Like I've said, you can't blame people for being honest."

"Rocket..." He says with a sad whine.

"Fine, fine. Thanks for that, by the way," Rocket says as the green woman heads over to them.

"Good show, Peter. There was even a bit of an after party with that guy. Who's this?" She asks, gesturing to Rocket.

"The name's Rocket," he says. "Quill's been letting me stay at his place."

"Well, that's Peter for you. Always looking to help strangers. Except when they're assholes."

"Well, to be fair, I'm also a bit of an asshole, so that doesn't really apply." Rocket says with a bit of satisfaction.

"Rocket, this is Gamora. She runs an art station next to me."

"No shit? I thought you just kinda painted all over yourself, like some sorta performance art bullshit," He snarks. "No offense, Quill."

"I mean, I don't paint all over myself while I play."

"You should. You'd probably get more money."

"Speaking of that..." Peter says, picking up Rocket's hat. He sets it down on his stool and gathers up the bills, then folds and pockets them.

"How much did you make?" He asks with a toothy smile.

"About 100 units. Not bad for two songs."

_He probably makes a lot more by himself. If you weren't there, he would've made more for sure._

"That's good," he mutters. Peter looks at him like he's confused but shakes his head after a second, and Rocket can tell he'll talk to him about the sudden change in mood later, which Rocket's not looking forward to.

Gamora looks between them strangely and then shrugs. "Anyway. I'm going back to my station, but I'll talk to you later, okay Peter?"

"Yeah! See ya, Gam." When she's out of sight, Rocket can't help but think that she's nice looking. Peter probably thinks so.

_Oh, he absolutely thinks so. He thinks she's gorgeous and that you're disgusting._

"She's cute, huh?" Peter asks, and Rocket spends the rest of the day in a sour mood before they go back to Peter's place.


	3. Trial and Error

_Your time will come,_

_If you wait for it,_

_If you wait for it,_

_It's hard, believe me, I've tried_

_But I keep coming up short_

_-_ Imagine Dragons _, Amsterdam_

* * *

 

Peter learns quickly that when Rocket doesn't want to talk about something, he _really_ doesn't want to talk about it.

"Just...anything, at all, really. You gotta give me a little bit."

From his position on the chair next to the couch, Peter can see Rocket roll his eyes when he scoffs, something he'd been doing a lot of today. "If you aren't careful your eyes will roll right out of your damn head," Peter sighs. "You don't have to be so guarded. Don't you trust me enough?"

"I've known you for a day."

He has a point.

"Well, I just thought you should talk about it, since you're here."

"Right," he scoffs, "As if I have a choice."

"...You can leave anytime...you know that, right? You can just walk right out the damn door."

Rocket glances to the door, then looks back to Peter and settles back into the couch. "Nah. This couch is really comfy. That's the only reason, though. Better than pavement."

With a frustrated groan, Peter gets up and places himself in front of Rocket. The biped doesn't look directly at him, and his arms are crossed. Peter leans slightly down and puts his hands on Rocket's shoulders, turning him slightly so he's looking at him. The look of wonder that shows up on Rocket's face disappears after a second, replaced with a cynical half-smile, like he knows something Peter doesn't. Peter suddenly wants to slap him, or hug him, or find out the name of every single asshole that made him feel so worthless that he believes any attempt to help or comfort him is a trick (or that he would need to kill himself, for that matter) so he can skin them alive.

Peter wonders about his intense brand of empathy often. Getting into fights with kids for killing frogs, getting into fights for any kind of injustice, really. He doesn't like suffering or pain and wants to help it any way he can, even if it ends up hurting himself in the process.

He doesn't loosen his grip on Rocket as he says, "Look, I know that you don't really need to tell me, but when you let shit get bottled up like that it's just gonna overflow someday."

"Overflowing like-" Rocket makes a gun with his hand and pulls the thumb-hammer down while making a pop sound, then takes his other hand and extends it on the back of his head, mimicking a blood splatter. "Don't know why you'd care about how some stupid thing like me ends up. Cause that's all I am, a thing. An _it_ , not a he. Been told that enough times."

"Anyone who's ever told you that was wrong. Dead wrong, man. You're talking to me, you've got all the limbs there, you have feelings...you're probably more of a person than some people out there."

Rocket's look gets tender and he sighs. "It was me."

"Uhh... _what_ was you?"

"You only made like, what, 100 units? If I wasn't there making a fucking shit show, you'd probably have a lot more money. It was me holding ya back."

Peter is chuckling, honestly _chuckling_. "What's so fucking funny, tough guy?!"

"I'm really sorry, man," he says, regulating his breathing back to normal, "I didn't mean to laugh at you like that, but today's always not really that busy. Plus, I only had my guitar. Once I bring a keyboard or some shit like that, then I'm gonna be making some more money."

"...I'm pathetic, worryin' over stupid details like that."

Peter shakes his head and rubs Rocket's shoulder, the motion drawing a pleasurable grunt from him. "You're not pathetic. You just worry. That's totally fine, man."

Peter stands and stretches, the fabric of his shirt stretching over his abs and giving Rocket quite a nice show from his view on the couch.

_Pervert._

Well, he couldn't really argue with that.

"Now, you can put all those thoughts to rest, 'cause I'm gonna get your mind off of 'em."

"How so," he deadpans, ears twitching in only slight interest.

"I'm gonna see what kind of instrument you can play!" Peter stands tall with arms crossed, then turns and starts heading towards the music room. Rocket jumps down from the couch and reluctantly follows the human into the room. Peter stands in the center, rocking on his heels in excitement like a child would on the last day of school before a weekend.

"So..I guess we can start with the thing that doesn't require an instrument at all - your voice!"

"I don't sing," he says, flat out refusing the proposal immediately.

"Aww, come on, Rocket...it's just me."

"Right, and that's already too much. If I can't sing in front of you, I ain't singin' in front of other people anytime soon."

"Fine," he grumbles. "But I will get a note out if you, mark my words."

"Don't hold your breath." Rocket actually likes singing and humming, but he only does it when building guns, which he can only assume Peter won't let him build for a while.

"Come on, I can show you a few things."

~

Rocket fucking hates being attracted to Peter. They tried a couple instruments. The guitar looked absolutely comical at his size, but he tried a ukulele and that actually fit in his grip decently. After some brass instruments that would absolutely _not_ work with Rocket having a very non-human mouth, they moved on to the piano.

And that is what caused the situation Rocket's currently in.

Rocket tries to keep his breathing regular, tries to focus on the baby blue walls of the room, but Peter saw that Rocket was having some trouble hitting the notes and just went ahead and put his hands on the others. Now the biped is just trying to keep calm.

"--So, it keeps going alphabetically from A to G. You see?" He uses the left pinkie over Rocket's own to press the key. "That's a C. Kinda like the--"

Rocket stops listening and just admires how _good_ Peter smells. Leather and a hint of sweat only slightly covered up by some kind of body wash, like he didn't use much. The human's front is against his back, and it's like he doesn't even realize what he's doing.

_If he knew you liked men he'd fucking kick you out. You heard about the fucked up shit happening over on Terra. And if he knew you were attracted to him? Forget about it, not only would you be fucking gone, you'd probably have a nice shiner to go along with it._

"--Uh, Rocket...? You listening, bud?"

"Huh? ...Oh, Yeah. Duh," he snorts, not-so-expertly covering up his musing.

"Are you okay? Your breathing's a little uneasy," he notes.

_Oh, what-fucking-ever. He doesn't give a shit about you. Even if you told him the real reason I'm sure you know what would happen._

"I'm fine, Quill," he lies, but it seems just believable enough that Peter doesn't question it. He gets off the piano bench and Rocket is grateful, because any longer in that position and he might have leaned back into the touch. Peter would definitely think something was up then.

"I think I might have something that's a bit more your speed." Peter walks over to a drum set, and Rocket follows. "You don't seem like one for more delicate instruments, so how about one where you just hit things?"

"Yeah, that seems more my style." A grin spreads across his features. Something more primal like drums could work.

"Okay, so...you play them by hitting them with the sticks. They're used to keep the beat. Kinda like the heartbeat of a song. Here, try 'em." Peter hands Rocket a pair of drumsticks and he takes them, then positions himself on the black stool set up in front of them.

"Oh..."

"What is it?" Rocket doesn't see anything seriously wrong with how he's sitting.

"The, uh...bass drum. The circular one at the bottom."

Rocket doesn't quite get what he means until the biped takes a closer look. His ears twitch in annoyance as he notices that there's a pedal on the floor that hits it, and his feet don't touch when he's on the stool. "Ugh...I guess I can hook something up to it. Some kind of pedal on that bar down there."

He taps one of the supporter bars that go from leg to leg around the stool. He figures he can rest his feet on it while sitting there and still be able to hit the bass drum. Rocket grips the sticks in his hands and experimentally hits each of the drums and the circular pieces of metal. It feels good to draw sound out of them, makes him feel a bit more powerful. "I think this could work."

"That's great!" Peter says, the grin on his face showing that he means it. "I'm totally gonna have to teach you to do some stuff. Maybe with the ukulele, too..."

Suddenly, the human gets a surprised look on his face and stumbles out the door, gesturing for Rocket to follow. The biped runs on all fours through the living room to the door and hurriedly puts on his jacket and coat. "Where the hell are we goin', Quill?"

"I forgot, I'm supposed to meet this new guy who's setting up some kinda shop on the bridge. I always try to greet new people."

Rocket makes a comment about being an exceptionally weird welcome wagon, but he follows him out the door anyway.

_~_

They walk on the path briskly, the sunset tinting the entire area a beautiful red. The booths that only stay open during the day have been packed up, and the day has settled down. A few vendors have people around them, but Rocket follows Peter to a booth that's right next to Gamora's, which is right next to Peter's. An intensely muscled, grey-green skinned man turns from an oven he's setting down on the ground to look at the pair. Rocket's climbed up onto the wooden counter to get more of an equal height with the other two.

"...Who are you?" The man asks bluntly.

"I'm Peter Quill, and this is Rocket. I play music two spaces over from you."

"I am Drax. I use melted sand to create things."

Rocket and Peter share a glance of confusion. "So...glass?" Rocket asks.

"Yes," Drax confirms, just as blunt and fast as before. "Starting tomorrow I will be making many things of glass. Small sculptures, drinking glasses, vases. Whatever I feel like at the moment."

"Well, um, welcome to the area. Don't be afraid to ask me if you have any questions at all. You're all licensed up, right?"

"Yes. I spoke to the man, that Mr. Rider yesterday," Drax says with a nod.

"Alright! Perfect. I'll see you around, then."

"I am not round. Why would you be seeing me in that way?"

Peter has to catch Rocket in his arms as he laughs so hard that he falls off the table.

Rocket doesn't admit it, of course, but the entire way back to Peter's place and as he settles down on the couch for the night, he wishes he could've stayed in that embrace the rest of the night.


	4. Blurryface

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've hung out for a while.

_You know those days when you want to just choose_

_To not get out of bed, you're lost in your head again_

_You play the game but you kind of cut,_

_'Cause you're coming down hard and your joints are all stuck_

_I tried to say that it's not the only way_

_I never knew if I could face myself to change_

_You were pacing I was insecure,_

_Slip and fall, I got the calls from the prison I've been living in_

Foster The People, _Helena Beat_

* * *

 

Nothing of note really happens until about two weeks later.

They're at Peter's house, practicing a song. Rocket may have shown interest in the drumset, but the ukulele still fit in his hands, so Peter wanted him to learn some things on it.

"Okay...you seem to be getting the hang of those notes, you think you'll be able to try it faster?"

"I guess," Rocket says. "That mean you're gonna try to sing the song this time?"

"Yep. Alright, you ready?" He puts his elbows on the guitar he has on with a strap, chin in his hands.

"As I'll ever be," he sighs discontentedly. Peter doesn't start counting off like Rocket expects him to, so the biped glares at him; Peter's giving that sympathetic look again. "What is it?"

"Are you doing alright today?"

"Yeah, I...I-I just..." He can't bring himself to lie when it's so obvious at that point. "No, not really."

It almost hurts that Rocket would try to hide it, but Peter knows that the biped doesn't mean anything by it. It's just his instinct to hide away his problems, just like it's Peter's instinct to be open about them. Likewise, Rocket's learned that nothing he says can dissuade Peter in the slightest. The human will just keep trying to make him feel better. It frustrates him to no end, because there has to be a trick, or a catch, or _something_ , but it hasn't appeared yet. Peter nods in understanding and sets down the guitar on the floor. "Okay, we're taking a break."

"No, no, we can keep going, ya don't have to stop on my behalf. I'm just being fuckin' overdramatic."

"Well, no matter if you think you're being overdramatic or not," Peter began, "You said you were having a bad day. That was your answer. I don't want to put you under any more stress than you already are."

They hadn't really gone to a doctor or therapist so Peter was hesitant to use the word _depression_ because Rocket would probably outright deny it. He would need a lot of convincing to go to a doctor in the first place. They had decided that for now, it was just that Rocket has bad days sometimes: Days where he doesn't feel like himself, or like he has a purpose, or like he should be alive, and the latter are the ones that scare Peter the most. Peter likes Rocket--likes talking to him, likes seeing him learn new things about music, just likes having him around.

He might also... _like_ like him. Just a little.

Can you blame him? He's so _cute_ , and when they get along, they get along really well, like better than some friends he had in Yondu's crew, who were, admittedly, jerks, but still.

So, yeah, the days where Rocket says that he'd be better off dead send his emotions into overdrive, but at least when he comforts him it's as genuine as can be.

Rocket grimaces. "You worry about me too much. Fine, I guess we can take a break."

A rumbling echoes off of the walls and Peter slowly brings himself to look at the source. "You hungry, buddy?"

"Oh, very funny," Rocket scolded, arms crossed. "Y'know, if you had as small a stomach as me you'd get hungrier easier, too."

"Mm..." Peter glances out the window, seemingly thinking about something. "Want to go out?"

The question makes Rocket's heart leap in his chest before Peter corrects himself. "I mean, to eat! I, uh...I mean, do you want to go out and get food. At a restaurant. With me."

He tries to lean back to appear nonchalant, but leans the chair too far and almost falls. He catches himself with a glare at a chuckling Rocket.

"Sure, dumbass."

~

About halfway through the walk, Rocket is pissed off.

"I'm sick of people staring at me."

"No one's staring at you, Rocket," says Peter as they pass a group of people blatantly staring at Rocket as he walks next to Peter.

"Right," Rocket grumbles. The lights of the city aren't on yet, so they walk through the semi-crowded streets in midday. People meander in and out of shops, up and down roads, going about their daily lives while Rocket tries to avoid the gazes they give him when he interrupts theirs.

_Really, all you do is just show up in people's lives to cause discomfort and then leave._

He doesn't talk until they're seated at the restaurant. A waitress walks up, and Rocket can't help but notice that she seems extremely attractive. Her brown skin contrasts beautifully with her white hair, but it isn't white from age; she seems only in her early to mid twenties. Her petit build has a waitress outfit on it, and she smiles at them as she pulls out a notepad. "My names Phyla-Vell, I'll be your waitress today. What can I get you to drink?"

Peter ends up ordering some sugary drink meant for kids while Rocket settles for plain old water, and he appreciates that this Phyla-Vell doesn't comment on his appearance or make a face at him.

Peter taps a beat to the song on the radio as Rocket tries his best to avoid Peter's eyes and folds his arms indignantly. "You're pissed off," he observes.

"Maybe a little bit." Rocket grunted. "The whole fuckin' time we were walking down the streets, I saw people gawkin' at me."

"Well, that's just how a lot of people are. They see something different and assume that it's wrong."

"People suck."

"Do I suck?" Peter asks, amusement dancing in his eyes.

_You want him to suck something, alright._

"I mean, no...you don't. it's just that really, you're the only decent person I've met since Groot. I mean people other than...you, I guess."

Peter gets a strange, open smile on his face, his brown orbs filled with a soft glow that Rocket doesn't recognize. All he says is, "That's good. You...I'm glad you feel that way."

There's a silence for a little while. Not awkward or uncomfortable, just different. Rocket and Peter both look around the restaurant, watching some of the other customers and pointing out any odd behavior they notice. The fact that they were able to just be there in silence for a while kinda reassures Peter that maybe...they could work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. Life got fuckin nuts real fast. Hopefully the next one will take a little less time.


	5. Implicit Demand For Proof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new thing is brought to light. It's a pretty big one.

_I delight in you_

_And yet this distance_

_That separates my hand from yours_

_Can only make me appreciate your heart_

_I adore you_

The Workday Release, _Love In A Box_

* * *

 

When Rocket wakes up that Friday there's a knocking at the front door.

The biped opts to not answer it, considering that it's not his house and he has no clue as to who it could be. His ear twitches as he pulls the small blanket up further onto himself and the door to Peter's bedroom opens, the man himself bounding out on tiptoes, trying to get to the door fast and not wake up Rocket at the same time. Rocket listens to the human fling it open and harshly shush whoever's at the door. "Shhh! I got company, man."

Rocket carefully opens his eyes to peek at the front door, and they shoot open as he realizes Peter isn't wearing anything but underwear.

Rocket hates him, he hates how he wears tight as hell briefs that show off his perfect ass, he hates the decent dusting of hair all over his legs and arms (and chest, but he can't see from this angle), and he hates having this stupid attraction that he can't do anything about. The biped tries to curl into himself, maybe appear a little bit more asleep while Peter talks to the stranger at the door.

"Oh, for god's sake, put on some clothes, Peter." It's a man's voice, Rocket realizes.

"Oh, come on, Richie. It isn't anything you haven't already seen. Or touched." 

"That isn't the point, Peter, I'm a Nova officer. I could write you up for...slightly indecent exposure if I wanted to."

Rocket doesn't even hear Peter's response. His mind is too busy reeling with the information he got from that brief snippet of conversation. He's pretty damn sure Peter just implied he's slept with the guy who's at the door. No, he's certain. But it seems almost too good to be true. Peter's into guys? Rocket's spent the entire time worrying about the reaction he'd get if he came out to Peter, and the dumb humie's gotten more action with than he has?

To be honest, that wouldn't be hard considering Rocket's actually never been with someone.

"Just make sure that you get it done. You need it to keep your thing going. So you can keep making money. So you can continue living here. And eating. And-"

"I get it, Richie," Peter interrupts. "I'll make sure. I probably need to add Rocket to the list of workers, huh..."

"Who?"

Rocket feigns sleep as Peter points at te form lying on the couch. "Him. Found him 'bout to jump off the bridge a couple weeks ago. I've let him stay here since. He's learning some stuff. Ukulele. Drums."

"How can a little guy like that play drums?"

"He's working on something. He can make stuff, I guess."

There's a pause in the conversation before the guy starts again. "He looks kinda cute sleeping like that. Like a cartoon or something."

Peter just laughs. "Honestly, I think he's just cute normally."

Rocket almost fucking yells, but somehow manages to not show any outright reaction. His heart pounds in his chest and he's thinking too much again, but he can't help it, because Peter fucking Quill just called him cute. But what did he mean? Cute as in, like a pet, which he hates? Cute as in attractive, like he hopes? Definitely not that one, because Rocket knows at this point that he can get his hopes up, but not that much.

"Are you into him?" The other voice questions, and Rocket's ear twitches as he strains to hear Peter's response. "Honestly...?" Peter says breathily.

_Just tell him what you think, ya dumb humie!_

"...Yeah, I'm pretty sure I am. He seems like he's been through so much, but I like talking to him. I can tell he still doesn't think much of himself...he's so brave, Richie. Seen way too much."

"Well, good luck with that," 'Richie' murmurs.

"Thanks. See you around, man." Peter gently closes the door and silently walks back to his room, then shuts the door. Rocket waits until he hears Peter fall back onto his bed, then immediately leans up fast as a fucking bullet and clamps his hands over his snout, a muffled yell sounding from behind his mouth and vibrating his teeth as it tries to escape. He falls back down, head swimming with this information. No one's ever liked him like this. No one's ever gotten to know him enough to even _consider_. Hell, no one besides Groot has ever even really known him. Already he could feel something in the back of his mind telling him that he wasn't good enough for Peter, but he fought it as best he could. This moment is too good to let go. But, what exactly is he supposed to do?

Rocket's train of thought is broken by the harsh buzzing of Peter's alarm. The human mumbles something about "stupid Richie" before Rocket hears him clamber out of bed. He pretends to be just waking up as Peter walks out. Rocket fakes a yawn/stretch and mutters, "Mornin'."

"Hey. Sleep good? No disturbances or anything?" He walks past Rocket and heads to the kitchen to start breakfast like usual, but everything feels different in a way. He knows that Peter is interested in him now, and finds himself saying that sentence in his head over and over. His interest in the human had slowly started developing into a crush for the past few days, but he's been thinking of it as a bad thing, something to be hidden away.

Not anymore.

"Yeah, I slept pretty good," Rocket says with a grin.

~

Peter informs him later that he's made plans for them to hang out with Gamora and Drax, and that they should start heading out.

"I would've liked to be notified about this a little sooner, Quill," the biped grumbles as he plants his hat atop his head. When it's secure, he stands and watches Peter emerge from the room. His usual white shirt and suspenders have a dark red leather jacket over them.

"Sorry. Come on, though, it could be fun. Don't you think so?" Peter opens the door and Rocket sighs, following along.

Peter, who knows a lot of the people who live around him, spent the short walk from the house to the bridge waving at some of the people he recognized. Every time he did, Rocket tried to look smaller, his hands shoved in his pockets. After the fifth or so time, Peter had to say something. "Relax."

"What are you talking about? I'm perfectly relaxed. You're the one who's not relaxed."

"Please. I bet your tail's sticking up right now." Rocket is surprised that Peter has picked up on something like that. Rocket couldn't get rid of instincts, as much as he wanted to. One such instinct was his tail--it would stick up stiffly when he was stressed, mad, or in other ways upset. The human must have noticed at some point.

"Maybe it...I...Ah, fuck off," he ends with a growl.

"Sorry for noticing," Peter says, and he's actually giggling, the adorable bastard.

"...You're not wrong, though. It has been."

"You should let yourself relax more often. People here aren't very judgmental. Trust me."

Rocket's just begun wondering if them having a relationship wouldn't be judged as harshly as it would on some other planets when they arrive at the bridge. Rocket stares at the place where they met, and Peter taps him on the shoulder to get his attention. His bearded face wears an expression of worry. "C'mon, let's go."

Rocket follows along, and Gamora walks from behind the side of her stand and waves at them. "Hey, guys. Come join."

A small space is cleared near her area for a group of chairs and a bright light in the center, almost like a campfire. Peter takes a seat on a chair by Gamora and Rocket follows. He has to jump and climb up to the chair, but he manages. Peter gives him a little smirk, but he doesn't look like he's mocking him, it's more like

_-like he thinks you're cute._

Normally, he would hate being called cute, but for some reason it seems alright when talking to Peter. Probably because the human isn't calling him cute, as in animal cute. The thought makes Rocket feel warm all over. He goes through the night with a satisfied feeling; Gamora is easy to talk to, and even if Drax is a little less easy to talk to, he’s at least interesting in the completely literal way that he speaks and processes things. Even if they're all very interesting, for some reason, Rocket starts feeling incredibly tired, and dozes off in his chair.

"...But, I guess, yeah. Hey, Rocket, what do-" Peter looks towards the chair expecting Rocket to be awake, but he's slumped, head down on his shoulder, snoring lightly. Peter wants to squeal.

"It is kinda late, isn't it," Gamora says with a yawn.

"I, too, feel I should retire." Drax stands and starts to lumber down the bridge. "Goodnight, bridge mates."

Peter leans down and gently slides his hands under Rocket, then lifts him to his chest. "We'll be going, then," He said as the city clock rung out 11:00 PM.

"Have a good night, Peter." When Gamora goes out of sight, he sighs and begins walking back to his house, but with the added warmth of an _insanely_ adorabe sleeping Rocket in his arms. He hasn't woken up yet, so Peter intends on milking this for all it's worth, even if he has to ignore the stares from some foreigners less acquainted with Xandar's oddities.

~

Warm. Smells like Peter. Peter's bed? No. The couch. Open your eyes.

Rocket slowly becomes more aware of his surroundings. He's in his usual position on the couch. Was he having a dream? Did he only dream that Peter was interested in him...? As he sits up, he realizes, no, it wasn't a dream. It's darker out, so they obviously went to that little hangout.

_What happened...?_

Rocket's ear twitches as he hears Peter get up out of bed, and he lies back down, but the human only goes into the music room. He doesn't close the door, so Rocket doesn't even have to strain very much to hear what he's doing. It sounds like he's picking up a guitar, and then sitting down on something. Peter starts strumming and Rocket relaxes as he plays and starts singing.

_This my excavation and today is Qumran_

_Everything that happens is from now on_

Rocket can make out the hands on the clock to read 1:00 AM, so it seems odd that Peter would be up this late just to play a song. He listens as he snuggles into what he realizes is Peter's jacket from earlier. He must have placed it over him when he...carried him back? Rocket turns a tinge red as he realizes that Peter had to carry him all the way back from the bridge.

_On your back with your racks And the stacks as your load_

_In the back and the racks and the stacks are your load_

_In the back with your racks And you're unstacking your load_

The soft sounds of rain drumming against the roof of the house start up as Peter finishes, like some kind of premature applause.

_Your love will be safe with me..._

He thinks about that line. Will it? If Rocket were to go in that room right now and tell Peter he wanted to be with him, would he want to be with him? He said he was interested, but he doesn't know that Rocket heard that conversation. Feelings, Rocket realizes with a quiet, exasperated exhale, are complicated.

Rocket lets himself slip back to sleep, wondering and wondering.


	6. Warm

_We may only have tonight,_

_But 'til the morning sun you're mine,_

_All mine_

_Play the music low,_

_And sway to the rhythm of love_

Plain White T's,  _Rhythm Of Love_

_~_

Rocket wakes up with a yelp, which in turn wakes up Peter.

He can't slow down his breathing, he can't get enough air, he needs Peter to back up, and he tells him that.

"Alright, alright..." He steps back and allows Rocket to catch his breath. "What was that?"

"Nightmare," he says, breath coming back to him ever so slowly.

"You have them often?"

"I haven't had them since I met you..." He shakes his head. "I thought they had gone away, but...guess not...now I'm gonna have to deal with this shit the rest of the night. When they happen they keep happening."

Peter is silent for a moment. Then, "I mean..."

"What? You got some kinda magic bullshit to fix my fucked up brain? You can't help me, Quill."

"Do you wanna stay in my bed...?"

Things stay quiet between them for several moments.

"...what?"

"It's just...it might help you feel better? Warm body nearby?"

"I'm gonna have to take a pass on that, Quill. It'd probably just make you feel odd. Havin' something like me squirming around near ya."

"Rocket..."

"Just go back to bed, Quill."

_CRACK!_

An enormous bolt of lightning strikes the ground outside and causes Rocket to jump and his fur to stand on end.

_Fuck it._

"Actually, I think I might take you up on that offer."

Peter grins and heads to his room, beckoning for Rocket to follow him.

~

"Hey, Rocket?"

Rocket sighs and rolls over to face Peter. He had hoped to go to sleep without incident. "Whatcha want?"

"Why don't you like storms? I mean, they're not my favorite thing, but I can tolerate them." The storm has died down, but before this point it was really intense, and Rocket was shaking the whole time.

 _Weak_.

"Halfworld. The place had all sorts of extreme weather. Stormed a lot." Peter doesn't say anything, so he keeps going.

"The nightmares are usually about that place...what they did...what I did to them...wonder what they'd think if they could see the monster they made."

_Do **not** cry, don't fucking let him see you like that, **don't do it**._

His voice breaks as he mutters, "I bet they're real fuckin' proud of themselves." He blinks and evidence of his weakness spills hot out of his eyes. He can't help it, and he hates that, hates this feeling of his emotions being laid bare, gets angry that he's out in the open. He turns onto his side, away from the human. Warm pressure glides up and down his back, and Peter is humming, humming and rubbing his back, like some weakling, but it feels nice, it comforts him...

He sobs and lets Peter keep doing it.

_You should have gotten over this already._

"It's okay, you've been through a lot, you're okay..."

_You're shameless, letting him dote on you over something that doesn't matter._

"Sometimes you gotta cry, man..."

_Look at you. Stop acting like--_

"Don't worry. You're safe now...you're safe here. I won't let anything happen to you."

Rocket wipes his eyes and rolls over, making himself face Peter as he sniffles. "Pretty intimate promises..."

"You should know by now that I can be a pretty intimate guy. I'll keep 'em, anyway. You're important."

"To your business," Rocket mutters, unconvinced, then coughs from the exertion of crying.

"To the _world_. To _me_. I mean...shit, man, I kinda...

 _Is he going to fucking_ \--

"...I like you, Rocket. I...shit, I've only known you for like, less than a month? And I still like you...a whole lot. More than friends."

Rocket stares at him for what feels like forever. He already knew this, but actually hearing it...it was something else entirely. Seeing overconfident and self-assured Peter act insecure and nervous, it was so damn _cute_.

"Rocket, you in there...?"

_Say something, shithead._

"I, uh, what? Yeah. I'm here. Present," he says, wishing that he stayed silent.

"Did you hear what I said?" Peter asks, an incredulous grin on his face. It seems like his only option besides grinning is to look incredibly panicked, so he goes with the more friendly option.

"I did."

"Okay..." This is awful. "...What do you think?"

**_TELL HIM._ **

"I too! I mean, me too! I do too. Like you, that is. I didn't think this would happen while I was sober," he admits.

Peter has an insanely wide, toothy smirk on his face as he leans closer. "What do you mean by that?"

Rocket shakes his head. "I really thought I would just get drunk and tell you what you just told me, only completely fuckin' plastered."

"Well, it's good that you didn't. I would've had to wait until morning."

 "To do what?"

"This," Peter says with his voice lowered, then dips his face down to kiss Rocket.

~

Rocket's never really thought to describe something as flawless, but he can't think of anything else to describe the immense relief and satisfaction he gets from being kissed by Peter. Warm, soft lips against his own, the warmth that the human seems to be breathing into him, the simple fact that he's doing this of his own free will...it's all coagulating, making his head spin and taking his breath away. They break apart, both of their chests rising and falling heavily. After a while of them sitting there, Peter gently caressing Rocket's jaw, the human speaks up.

"You know that feeling, like, when you get into bed after a long day and everything just kinda melts away? Problems and shit like that seem a little less?"

"I guess," Rocket murmurs drowsily.

"I want to settle into bed like that with you next to me every night. For the foreseeable future. Deal?"

"Sounds good," he sighs as his eyes droop close and Peter holds him close, sleep coming easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shorter chapter but I feel like somethin pretty big happened


	7. Rock and Roll Hustle All The Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sin. there is sin here.
> 
> also, this time the song in the beginning is the one that Peter and Rocket are actually playing! crazy life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that I haven't exactly clarified certain things about this world, so:
> 
> \- It is 1950 right now, on Earth. The technology on Xandar is about the level of our own right now in 2015, but it's still considered primitive by 2015 Xandar standards  
> \- There is the internet, (extranet) Peter just doesn't have a computer. He doesn't even have a cell phone. He's kind of old fashioned  
> \- This doesn't really have any pertinence to the setting, but Rocket still wears his jumpsuit when he's not wearing his trenchcoat

_I was a movin' man in my younger days_

_But I've grown out of my ramblin' ways_

_I left that road so far behind_

_Now I know, oh baby_

_I got mine_

The Black Keys,  _I Got Mine_

* * *

 

The crowd gives a decently big round of applause, even a small amount of cheers. Peter and him do that kind of odd Terran custom where you slap hands together, and sits back down on his stool. "That's all for today, but, uh, we'll see you guys tomorrow! Thank you!"  
  
One last round of applause surges forward before the crowd disperses, heading towards the other booths along the bridge. Peter takes his guitar off of his shoulder and holds it in one hand.   
  
"Dude, that was awesome!" Peter wraps his free arm around Rocket's shoulder and kisses the top of his head, prompting him to shove Peter away playfully.   
  
"Get your humie germs off me," he laughs. "There's kids around."  
  
Peter shakes his head and sets the faded red guitar on the stand. "We should think of a name."  
  
Rocket looks puzzled before realization dawns on his features. "For us? We're a little small, don't you think?"  
  
"We could still have a name. Something so people can recognize us. I mean, I don't really have a extranet terminal, but bands can get pretty big through there."  
  
"You have anything in mind?" Rocket asks, hopping down from his bench.   
  
"Dunno," he admits. "The Star-Lords?"  
  
"More like 'The Star-Dorks.' Anything else?"  
  
"Not really. And The Star-Lords would be a pretty good name!"  
  
"Right... think some more on it."  
  
~  
  
"Peter, can we talk for a sec?"  
  
"Infinity Gauntlet," he states simply while walking into the room.   
  
"What?"  
  
"Like, for the band name," Peter clarifies, sitting down on the couch next to Rocket. He wraps an arm around the biped and pulls him closer, enjoying the warmth he radiates.  
  
"I'll think about it, whatever. Look..." His eyes shift to the floor in apparent embarrassment. "...aren't you kinda...don't you..."  
  
"What is it?" He murmurs while playing with one of Rocket's ears absentmindedly.   
  
"Are you sure you want to be all...touchy-feely in public? Do you want people to know we're together...?" Rocket feels Peter stiffen against him, the gentle toying on his ear stopping momentarily, and he worries that maybe he was right.   
  
"Of course I do," he says, resuming his actions and letting Rocket breathe easier. "I'm not... _ashamed_ of you or anything. I really like you. If someone has a problem with it, then they can just fuck right off."  
  
"You're amazing," Rocket says, and turns around to kiss him. They break apart and Peter hums while planting small pecks on top of Rocket's head. "The Rarity Machine?"  
  
"Ehh..."  
  
"Of Mars And Men?"  
  
"What does that even--nevermind, no."  
  
"Work with me, _baaabe_ ~."  
  
Rocket flushes under his fur and punches Peter in the shoulder. He just laughs and kisses the smaller male, deeper than earlier. Peter slips his tongue into Rocket's mouth and they slowly glide and twirl around against each other slickly. Peter lays back on the couch and maneuvers Rocket so that he's lying on top of his chest, despite the slight noise of protest from the other. They continue kissing, and Rocket can feel himself quickly becoming aroused. He detaches himself from the kiss and lays his head down near Peter's head. The biped knows that Peter can probably feel his hardness through his jumpsuit, and at least has the decency to  feel embarrassed. "Rocket?"  
  
"What is it...?" He worries for a moment that Peter is grossed out by it, that maybe the human is only interested in dating a freak and not necessarily boning one.  
  
"I wanna suck your dick."  
  
Apparently not.  
  
He would laugh if he wasn't so surprised. Rocket's face heats up under his fur hotter than he ever thought possible, and that was probably also part of Peter's plan because he's grinning devilishly at him. He uselessly stammers out random syllables before forming an actual coherent sentence. "Are you...are you sure you w-want to...?"  
  
"Yeah," Peter says without a moment of hesitation.   
  
"I should tell you, I...I've never..."  
  
"Never been with a guy?"  
  
"I mean, yeah...but it's more like..."  
  
Peter smiles at him and motions with his hand in a circle for him to go on, obviously okay with waiting.   
  
"...I've never...I've never done this. At all." Rocket's face heats up, and he hopes that Peter can get the message already.   
  
"...Oh! I...okay. You're a virgin?"  
  
Rocket's face flushes and he nods, gaze down at the couch, expecting Peter to just leave. Instead, he feels Peter's hand rubbing slowly up and down his back. "So," he murmurs into Rocket's ear, tone seductive, "You've never fucked anyone?"  
  
 _Wow_ , that did some things for him, because his cock is somehow even harder. "No..."  
  
"I think we should fix that sometime soon," He says, and nips on Rocket's ear again. "Do you agree?"  
  
Rocket is getting a lot of information right now, and he's in love with the feeling. Just the thought, that Peter wants _Rocket_ to top him, it's fantastic. "Yeah, that would be cool. I mean...yeah."  
  
"For right now, though, I want to get my mouth on your dick...as long as you're okay with that."  
  
"I, uh, yeah. That'd be...yes."  
  
Peter grins at his reaction and goes for Rocket's jumpsuit. "Erm...how does this come off?  
  
He sighs and reaches for his back, pointing towards the zipper that runs from the back of the outfit's neck to a little below the waist. Peter grabs it and feels a palpable shudder of a breath escape from between his parted lips. With a deep inhale, he starts to pull it down.  
  
"Wait!"  
  
Peter stops immediately and asks, "What is it? Did I do something wrong? Did the zipper catch on your fur?"  
  
"No, none of that. I just gotta warn ya...it's not too pretty back there. Lots of marks from...you know, that place...." He trails off a bit as he ends his sentence.  
  
Peter nods. "I gotcha."  
  
He keeps unzipping, anyway. Rocket's back is revealed, and yeah, it's a little rough, but Peter doesn't care. There is scarring around multiple small metallic plugs and a big one in the center of all of them. He doesn't comment on it, and Rocket is glad he doesn't. The biped bends over at the waist, partly to take off the arms of his jumpsuit and slip his tail out, partly just to tease Peter. He may have never been been with someone like this, but he's watched enough porn to know what he likes to see. His underwear fits snugly against his ass as he gives his rump a little shake, and Rocket swears that he hears Peter's breath hitch.   
  
Fingers firmly hook themselves into Rocket's waistband and pull down slowly until Rocket's bare ass is exposed to the open air. Peter makes a mental note to take time and appreciate this perfect sight later. He must have been able to sense that Peter was staring after a few seconds of inactivity, because he gives a chuckle that has a bit of nervousness to it and asks, "Like what you see?"  
  
"Huh...? Oh! Yeah, I...absolutely, yes, yep, mmhmm."  
  
Rocket grins and shuffles himself out of the jumpsuit and underwear, then tentatively lies down on the couch. His hard cock is finally shown in full view to Peter; pink, almost human-like, but with a bit of fur near the base clearly giving its origin away. It appears to be about a normal size for a human, maybe a bit smaller, but it looks like a good size for Rocket. The biped notices him staring and sighs. "I know, it looks pretty damn weird, huh?"  
  
"What? ...No, Rocket, I wasn't thinking that," He tries to reassure.   
  
He looks away, with his arms crossed. "You don't gotta hide it. I know what I look like, even down there. Just more of a reason I'm a freak I guess-- _oh_ , oh, _fuck_ , shit, fuck...!"  
  
Since Rocket was in the middle of talking and looking away, Peter took the opportunity to sprawl on the couch and engulf the entirety of Rocket's cock with his mouth. The biped immediately starts writhing on the couch, voice garbling into nonsense and groans as Peter begins sucking him off.   
  
"Fuck, Peter, you--ah! Shit...!" Peter responds to this positive feedback by circling his tongue around the cock in his mouth, drawing out noises and pants and groans from him because he _needs_ to hear them, needs to blow Rocket's mind and make him feel better than he ever has. Peter pulls off and leans his head down, ignoring the desperate whimper from above and idly nibbling at Rocket's balls. "Peter..."  
  
"You like all this?" He teases, jgrinning and leaving small licks on the base of his shaft. He can't lie, he's pretty good at sucking dick. _Very_ unsheltered teenage years and many adult Ravagers who sometimes weren't able to get their rocks off planetside left plenty of opportunities to experiment. He's confident in his abilities, and when he gets his mouth back on Rocket, Peter can tell from the way he's moaning and writhing that he won't last much longer. Peter almost starts jerking himself off, but decides that he should focus on Rocket. He sucks harder, lips making obscene slurping sounds around the shaft, practically trying to wring Rocket's orgasm out of him. It works.   
  
The rapid exhales above his head increase in rate. Peter pulls off and starts stroking frantically, lapping at the biped's cockhead as he shallowly thrusts into the human's hand. "Shit, Pete, I'm gonna--"  
  
"Give it to me, man, gimme all of you..." Peter practically _moans_ gruffly as he speeds up, and that's like the hottest thing he's ever heard, probably because it's Peter saying these things. It's more than enough to push him over the edge.   
  
" _Fuuuuck_ , fuck, _fuck_!" Rocket's toes clench into the couch and he comes, hard, shooting into and around Peter's open mouth. He darts his tongue out to collect the release he didn't catch and crawls across Rocket to kiss him. He can taste his own release, and that's weirdly hot to him, in a debauchery sort of way.   
  
Peter's hard. Rocket can feel it on his thigh, but the human isn't doing anything about it. They shift as they kiss and _wow_ , Peter got hard from sucking him off. That amazes Rocket, that he wasn't grossed out, he didn't do it just because he wanted something from him, he did it because he wanted to. He runs his hands down Peter's front and scoots down so that his head is about level with his belly. He starts on Peter's zipper when the human grabs his hands.   
  
"You don't have to," Peter says assuringly. For a moment Rocket wants to punch him. He's far too sweet for his own good.  
  
"I want to."  
  
Peter looks at him concerned for a moment. "...You won't feel like I'm pushing you, or rushing too fast, or anything?"  
  
"No, you dumbass," Rocket sighs.   
  
"Okay then," Peter says.  
  
The second Peter is sure Rocket has consented to this, Rocket deftly undoes the button on his jeans and pulls the zipper down. Peter helps the smaller male slide his pants off, and Peter is just left in his underwear which he slides down to his thighs. Rocket removes them the rest of the way, then finally looks at the area he's been avoiding with his eyes.   
  
Peter's cock is hard and leaking precum. Rocket's never seen a real, actual dick before, and certainly not one that's aroused because of him. He gets closer and slowly wraps both of his hands around it, the firm, warm hardness enveloped by his fingers. Peter lets out a sharp hiss and lightly bucks into Rocket's hands. He suddenly feels like he has an immense sort of _power_ ; he takes his hands off for a second and is met with a brief, pitiful sound, almost a whimper. The biped takes advantage of the burst of confidence he gains from this and slowly drags his tongue across the underside of Peter's pulsing length.   
  
"Rocket, shit, keep doing that..." Rocket's tongue feels completely foreign to him, unlike any other kind he's felt, slick but also a bit rougher than most. The biped is able to wrap his tongue almost completely around the length, dragging it up and down. He does this while stroking and fondling Peter's balls. He continues, spurred on by the twitches and gasps from Peter. He tries to speed up his movements, and is met with a shuddering gasp from the human as he lets out a sharp, " _Fuck_."  
  
"Gonna come," Peter eventually grunts, so Rocket pulls off and jerks him roughly until he shoots onto his belly and spills over Rocket's fingers. Peter grabs a napkin or two from a container on the table by the couch and cleans up, then grunts as Rocket pulls himself onto his chest.   
  
"Whatcha thinkin?" Peter asks after a couple seconds of silence.   
  
"It was good. Really good. Did you mean what you said? About me being on top...?"  
  
"Totally," He confirms.   
  
"Cool, cool...I'm tired."  
  
"Well, let's sleep then," He says through a yawn. He settles down into the couch and Rocket does the same into his chest. They're passed out within minutes.   
  
~  
  
Rocket is woken up by a knocking at the door. He sighs and lifts himself from his position on Peter's chest. The human is still sleeping, faint snoring coming from his parted lips. After putting on his clothes and patting down the fur on the top of his head to make himself more presentable, he walks the short distance from the couch to the door. He opens it and is about to say something but he nearly faints when he sees who is there.   
  
"I am Groot?"

 


	8. The Spoken Word Is Weak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the wait.
> 
> something pretty bad happened. probably the worst thing that has ever happened to me. I'm still trying to recover emotionally, and I won't be okay for a while. this will be finished. I refuse to leave it after all of this time and after all of the work that's been put into it, just know that it's not gonna be done by the end of this year. I appreciate every single comment and kudos I get. from the bottom of my heart, thank you.
> 
> stay alive.

_Smile,_

_The worst is yet to come_

_We'll be lucky if we ever see the sun_

_Got nowhere to turn,_

_And we've got nothing but time_

_But the future is forever,_

_The future is forever,_

_So smile_

Mikky Ekko,  _Smile_

* * *

 

 

 

 

Rocket doesn't understand.   
  
Groot is dead. Or, at least, he's supposed to be. Rocket watched him _die_. Everything that he did before he met Peter was entirely based on the assumption that his best friend in the entire galaxy was dead and gone. He was the only other person who understood what it meant to be an outcast, the only person who understood his nature and why he acted like he did.   
  
If Peter hadn't been there, he would've killed himself, and never meet the person he's...dating? In cahoots with? He's pretty sure they're dating.   
  
And he would have never seen Groot again.   
  
This is real, right?  
  
"I am Groot?"   
  
He feels emotion threaten to take his breath away as he steps closer to the Flora Colossus and the familiar smell of a safe, deep woodlands fill his nostrils. "It...is it really you?"  
  
He reaches out to touch the leg in front of him, but retracts his hand. Groot smiles and extends a branch towards Rocket. He almost backs away, but changes his mind and tentatively climbs up the branch. As he gets near the top he runs and immediately throws himself into Groot's arms. He catches him and suddenly Rocket is crying, feeling like a total wimp, but he thought Groot was _dead_. Groot lets him cry into his shoulder, because of course he does, why wouldn't he? Groot was- _is_ perfect.   
  
All this crying and Groot's resounding voice cause some noise, so Peter comes up to the doorway, boxers on (thankfully) and questions drowsily, "Whaaasssgoinon?"  
  
He notices that Rocket is crying and immediately wipes the sleep out of his eyes. "Rocket, are you okay? Who is this?"  
  
He manages to calm down and say while wiping his eyes, "It's Groot, he's...he's alive, Peter..."   
  
"Wait, really? How?"  
  
"I am Groot." Rocket looks at him puzzled, head tilted to the side.   
  
"What the hell do you mean, 'regeneration'? We don't have that kinda tech."  
  
"I am Groot!"   
  
"You never told me you could just fuckin' _regrow_!"  
  
"Groot? I am...Groot."  
  
"Sorry don't cut it, buddy! You better never leave again, ever! Ever! I thought you were...were..."  
  
"Groooooot..." He croons, using vines to rub at Rocket's face and ears comfortingly. He can't help but lean into it, some stray tears rolling down his cheeks onto the tendrils that caress his features. "I am Groot?"  
  
Rocket stiffens in Groot's arms. "Oh, him...? He's, uh...he's just..."  
  
Peter looks at Rocket and can read everything he needs to know in his face. "It'll be fine."  
  
"Groot, this is Peter. He's...he's my boyfriend...?" He looks over at him for confirmation, so Peter flashes him a thumbs up with a smile. Rocket nods. "Yeah. Boyfriend."  
  
"I am Groot?"  
  
"I never told ya cause telling you my sexual orientation didn't seemed like something you would need to know!" Rocket hops down and wipes his eyes, sniffling a bit. "I'm gonna go clean my face. You two get to know each other."  
  
"I am Groot?" He asks when Rocket has left. The colossi's speech is fascinating; he hears "I am Groot," but under that he can sense the whisperings of actual words, like the true meaning is being filtered directly to him.   
  
"Really, that's the first time we've actually used that word to describe ourselves," He admits.   
  
"I am Groot..."  
  
"I am, I am!" Peter says, hands up. "I'd never think of hurting Rocket. I know some of the stuff he's been through. He doesn't need any more pain in his life."  
  
"Besides," Peter continues, a bit of a blush coloring his cheeks, "...I like him a lot."  
  
Groot gives a satisfied hum and nods, smiling. Rocket enters at that moment, the fur on his face looking more revitalized and his gait lighter.  
  
"Alright, we're good. How do you feel about bringing this big lug along to the bridge today?" Rocket asks, pointing towards Groot.   
  
"Don't see a problem with it," Peter admits. "What should we play though?"  
  
"How about that one we were working on a while ago...with the ukulele?"  
  
"Oh, right, yeah. We can do that one."  
  
"Oh, and what about that   
  
Groot looks between the two, confused. They clearly have some kind of understanding about something that Groot knows nothing about. "I am Groot?"  
  
"You'll see," Rocket says with a grin.  
  
~  
  
"1, 2, 3, 4..." Peter counts out, and Rocket starts strumming the instrument in his lap.   
  
" _You remind me of a former love_  
  
 _That I once knew_  
  
 _And you carry a little piece with you_  
  
 _We were holdin' hands walking through_  
  
 _The middle of the street, that's fine with me_  
  
 _I'm just takin' in the scenery_  
  
 _You remind me of a few of my famous friends_  
  
 _Well, that all depends what you qualify as friends..._ "  
  
As Rocket strums he starts to notice some faces in the crowd that are familiar. A blue-fleshed Xandarian he's seen drop by a couple times, some choice others. Nothing much of note, except for one of the people standing in the middle, a scummy-looking guy with slicked-back hair the color of tar. _I know him_ , he realizes.   
  
_"Nice show. But maybe lose the rat, huh?"_  
  
Rocket keeps playing, somehow, but his ears shoot back under his hat. The last thing he needs at the moment is a heckler of that guy's nature. With two people who (for some reason) are on his side, there'd likely be some sort of fight.  
  
" _Take a chance,_  
  
 _Take your shoes off,_  
  
 _Dance in the rain_  
  
 _Now we're splashin' around_  
  
 _And the news spread all over town_  
  
 _I'm not complaining that it's raining I'm just sayin' that I'd like it a lot more than you'd think_  
  
 _If the sun would come out and sing with me_  
  
 _You remind me of a few of my famous friends_  
  
 _Well, that all depends on what you qualify as friends_  
  
 _You remind me of a few of my famous friends..._  
  
 _Well, that all depends_  
  
 _On what you qualify as friends..._ "  
  
The applause shoots up along with a murmur of wonder. Rocket’s eyes travel over the crowd, then down to himself, then to Peter, and finally to what he realizes is the actual source of their attention, Groot. The Flora Colossus is standing behind them, looking totally inconspicuous as far as Rocket is concerned, but to the people of Xandar, it must be such a spectacle. Flora Colossi aren’t usually seen walking out and about, and certainly not hanging out with a singing human and a ukulele playing genetic hybrid on a bridge-made-artist’s-alley. Gently setting down the uke (it’s not his, after all), Rocket climbs up onto his shoulder, a place made familiar to him by their constant time spent together. He looks out onto the crowd, and while they pile bills into the ukulele case, Rocket mutters, “So what did ya think?”

“I am Groot.”

“Yeah, I thought so too.”

~

As soon as they get back to Peter’s apartment, Rocket starts counting the money people gave them. It’s something he’s done more recently, making sure that they have enough to get by. It’s not that they’re in any sort of financial trouble, Rocket just sort of started doing it one day after a show and Peter never told him he shouldn’t, or not to worry about it. Rocket wants to make sure that if they ever need something, they can get it. He starts counting it off, the usual amount of tens and fives. A very generous person happened to give them a fifty credit bill, some other people twenties, and Rocket realizes that the novelty of Groot simply being there was enough to give people incentive to tip more. Peter comes into the room, followed by Groot, who ducks to fit under the doorway.

“Groot, you’re a hit, buddy! People gave way more than they usually do just cause your big mug was standing behind us.”

A dopey smile spreads across the rough bark of the Colossus. “I am Groot?”

“Hell yeah, you did.” Peter crouches down by the ukulele case and begins to inspect the contents. “Who woulda thought people would pay more to stare at a rare species? Actually, that kinda makes sense They-”

“Rocket,” Peter interrupts, “what is this?”

The human holds up a white envelope, folded on the center, with “Rocket” sprawled on it in sharp, uneven script. Rocket’s ears twitch and his head tilts in confusion. “I must’ve missed that when I was counting somehow.”

“Well, it is addressed to you. You better check it out.” He hands it to Rocket. The envelope feels like it’s been through water damage. Peter stretches with a groan. “I think I’m gonna head to bed. You coming soon?”

“It’s only six o’clock,” he mutters as he continues examining the letter.

“Beds aren’t just for sleeping, Rocket,” Peter calls out as he heads to his room. The biped can almost hear the leering grin on his face.

“Oh, get out of here, you perv, I’ll be in later.” Rocket laughs, blushing. It feels so different to have someone in the world who isn’t disgusted with him, who can think of him as a romantic and sexual partner and not be revolted by the idea. Groot lightheartedly grumbles and leaves the room. He’s apparently taken up sleeping in the music room, surrounded by music memorabilia and records.

It’s just him now, alone on Peter’s couch. He glances out of the window as it starts to rain. The glass quickly becomes covered with raindrops, endlessly dripping down and being replaced. He opens the letter with a quick motion, and removes the paper inside. He unfolds it and reads what it says.

 

_Dear ~~Rocket~~ Freak,_

_Hey there. How are you doing? It’s been a long, long time since we’ve been able to talk. You always were awful at keeping in touch. Actually, you’re pretty awful at other things too. Debts, keeping your friends alive...well, that last one actually ended up working out, somehow. Now that you’re shacking up and getting fucked by some random humie, things seem to be just getting better and better._

_It would be so awful if everything went wrong, wouldn’t it?_

_\- Sal_

By the time he finishes reading the letter, his stomach has dropped and shattered into pieces in his feet. It’s just like when he had the nightmare; he can’t breathe, he needs to get out of here. This is even worse than just some dream, this is _real_ : Sal is here, Sal can take everything from him, Sal knows where he frequents, Sal knows that Groot is still alive, _Sal is here_.

  
Rocket throws on his coat and jacket, shoves the letter into his pocket, and runs out the front door, slamming it shut behind him.  
  
  



	9. Announcement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yeah

Hey. Been a while.

I haven't updated this fic in a while because my head is overflowing with ideas for other fandoms/other stories with this pairing/I'm lazy as fuck.

I've decided that I'll put this on hold for now and resume updating after the release of Vol. 2. Not only can I bring in characters from that, (Apparently Yondu is going to be part of the guardians?????) I can give myself just a bit of a break. 

As always, eternally grateful to every single one of you who stay loyal to these two. We're small and gotta stick together. I'm certainly gonna write something more for these two in the downtime, just with a different setting/plot.

Love ya.

See ya in May. 


End file.
